Chapter 1 - The Price of a Daughter
Twenty dollars.
Two draft horses.
That was the price Gideon Bell accepted for his daughter.
Josephine learned the exact amount because her father had announced it at breakfast as casually as another man might discuss the price of lumber.
“Twenty dollars cash,” he had said, cutting into a piece of salt pork, “and two strong horses.”
Her aunt Agnes had smiled.
“You should be grateful.”
Josephine had heard that sentence so often that it had become almost meaningless.
Grateful for old dresses altered to fit her.
Grateful for the corner bedroom where the roof leaked.
Grateful whenever a man danced with her once at a social because Agnes had asked him.
Grateful that somebody—anybody—had finally agreed to marry a woman the Bell family considered too large, too plain, and too expensive.
By sunset, Josephine was riding north in a preacher’s wagon toward a stranger named Harlan Creek.
By nightfall, the snow began.
And by the time the wagon reached the isolated cabin high in the mountains, Josephine’s cheap wedding dress had soaked through, its hem frozen stiff while the corset Agnes had laced beneath it squeezed every shallow breath from her lungs.
Then she saw her husband.
Harlan Creek filled the doorway.
He was enormous.
Not merely tall.
Enormous.
Broad shoulders disappeared beneath an old fur-lined coat. Thick dark hair curled around his forehead. A full beard sharpened rather than softened his face, and pale gray eyes regarded the arriving wagon without revealing a single thought.
Josephine’s stomach twisted.
The preacher unloaded her trunk.
“Storm’s closing the pass,” he announced.
Josephine turned.
“You’re leaving?”
“Unless you want all three of us trapped here until spring.”
The preacher climbed back onto the wagon.
Josephine watched him disappear into the whiteness.
When she turned around, Harlan was still standing there.
He picked up her trunk with one hand.
“Inside.”
That was the first word her new husband spoke to her.
Not welcome.
Not wife.
Not even Josephine.
Inside.
She obeyed.
The cabin startled her.
It was rough, certainly, but warm.
A fire crackled inside an iron stove. Lanterns glowed against hand-hewn timber walls. Shelves held canned vegetables, books, tools, and carefully stacked dishes.
There was order here.
Care.
Harlan set her trunk beside the wall.
Then he looked at her.
Josephine immediately lowered her eyes.
She knew that moment.
Every man who had ever been introduced to her eventually looked at her body.
Some tried to hide disappointment.
Others didn't bother.
But Harlan said nothing about her size.
His gaze stopped on her hands.
They were trembling.
Then her lips.
Blue from the cold.
Then her chest.
Barely rising.
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyebrows tightened.
“You’re not.”
He approached.
Josephine backed against the door.
That stopped him.
Something changed in his expression.
Understanding, perhaps.
He pointed toward the stove.
“Wet clothes will keep pulling heat out of you.”
Josephine swallowed.
Then came the words she had feared since leaving St. Louis.
“Take off everything.”
Her blood turned cold.
She stared at him.
Harlan seemed to realize how the command sounded.
But before he could say anything else, Josephine whispered, “Turn around.”
He turned instantly.
No argument.
No smile.
No complaint.
Just his back.
Josephine stood frozen for several seconds.
Then she began removing the soaked outer layers.
Her wedding dress hit the floor with a wet slap.
Then her heavy petticoats.
She remained covered in her chemise and the corset Agnes had laced so cruelly that angry pressure marks burned beneath it.
Josephine reached behind herself.
The knot would not move.
She pulled harder.
Nothing.
Her breathing became faster.
“Harlan?”
He remained facing the wall.
“Yes?”
“I…”
She hated how frightened her voice sounded.
“The knot.”
He waited.
Josephine understood.
He would not turn without permission.
“You can look.”
Harlan faced her.
His eyes never traveled where she feared they would.
They went directly to the corset laces.
“Hold still.”
Josephine saw the knife in his hand.
For one terrible second, panic seized her.
Then Harlan stepped behind her.
The blade touched the laces.
One clean movement.
The cords snapped.
Pressure vanished.
The corset loosened.
Josephine sucked air into her lungs.
A full breath.
Then another.
Her knees nearly gave way.
Harlan caught the corset—not her—as it fell.
“You wore this all day?”
“Three days.”
His expression darkened.
“Why?”
“My aunt said…”
Josephine stopped.
What could she possibly say?
My aunt believed I needed to look smaller so you would not regret buying me?
Harlan placed the knife on the table.
Then he retrieved an enormous buffalo robe and wrapped it around Josephine’s shoulders.
“You need warmth.”
He guided her toward the rocking chair without gripping her.
Within minutes, a mug of steaming broth sat in her hands.
Josephine watched him pick up the discarded corset.
“What are you doing?”
Harlan opened the iron stove.
He threw the corset inside.
Josephine gasped.
The fabric caught almost immediately.
“You won't need that cage up here,” he said.
His eyes met hers.
“You need your lungs.”
Josephine stared at the flames consuming the garment that Agnes had insisted made her acceptable.
She expected to feel frightened.
Instead, something inside her loosened.
Not completely.
But enough.
Harlan moved to the opposite side of the room.
He sat.
He gave her space.
He did not look at her like a purchase.
That confused her more than cruelty would have.
Cruelty she understood.
Kindness was dangerous because kindness made a person hope.
Josephine tightened the buffalo robe around herself.
Finally she asked, “Why did you buy me?”
Harlan went completely still.
“I know the agreement,” she continued. “Twenty dollars and two horses.”
His jaw flexed.
“My father told me what you paid.”
The storm screamed outside.
Harlan looked toward the window.
Then back at Josephine.
“I didn't give your father that money because I wanted to own you.”
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
“Then why?”
Harlan leaned forward.
“Because another man was going to.”
Josephine stopped breathing.
Harlan’s voice became quieter.
“His name is Silas Vale.”
Josephine knew that name.
Everyone in St. Louis knew it.
A wealthy livestock dealer.
A widower.
A man nearly twice her age.
Her father had once mentioned him at dinner.
Josephine had thought nothing of it.
Harlan continued.
“I heard your father talking at the trading post three months ago. He wasn't looking for you a husband.”
Josephine’s stomach sank.
“He was looking for the highest bidder.”
“No.”
“I wish I were lying.”
She shook her head.
“My father said you answered an advertisement.”
“I did.”
“Then—”
“After I heard what he intended.”
Josephine stared.
Harlan rested his forearms on his knees.
“Vale offered your father forty dollars.”
“But you paid twenty.”
“And two horses worth considerably more.”
“Why?”
Harlan hesitated.
It was the first time she had seen uncertainty in him.
“Because Vale doesn't marry women.”
Josephine felt the room grow smaller.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I wasn't going to leave you there long enough to find out.”
Silence swallowed the cabin.
Josephine looked toward the stove.
Her corset was almost gone.
“But why marry me?”
“Because your father had legal authority over where you lived until another household claimed responsibility for you. I needed something he couldn't easily undo.”
Josephine stared at the stranger who had become her husband.
“You married me to rescue me?”
Harlan looked almost uncomfortable with the word.
“I married you to give you a door.”
“A door?”
“When spring opens the pass, you can walk through it.”
Josephine’s eyes filled.
“You mean…”
“I mean you owe me nothing.”
He paused.
“No bed. No children. No obedience. No affection.”
His voice remained calm.
“When the roads open, if you want St. Louis, I'll take you there. If you want Denver, I'll take you there. If you want an annulment, I'll sign whatever needs signing.”
Josephine could barely speak.
“And the twenty dollars?”
“Gone.”
“The horses?”
“Gone.”
“You'd lose everything?”
Harlan glanced at the burning corset.
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“I'd lose two horses.”
Josephine suddenly understood the difference.
Her father had valued her at a price.
Harlan apparently did not believe she had one.
She looked down quickly so he would not see the tears.
But Harlan saw anyway.
He rose.
“There's another room through that door.”
Josephine looked up.
“It's yours. Bolt locks from the inside.”
He walked toward the opposite side of the cabin.
“Where will you sleep?”
“Here.”
“On the floor?”
“Wouldn't be the first time.”
He spread a blanket near the stove.
Josephine watched him.
“Harlan?”
He glanced back.
“Thank you.”
Something flickered across his face.
Pain rather than pleasure.
“Don't thank me yet.”
Her heart tightened.
“Why?”
Harlan looked toward the snow-covered window.
“Because Silas Vale knows where I live.”
A gust of wind rattled the glass.
“And men like Vale,” Harlan said quietly, “don't like losing something they believed they'd already bought.”
That night Josephine slept behind a locked door for the first time in her life.
May you like
And miles below the mountain, through a storm no sensible traveler would attempt, three riders were already climbing toward Harlan Creek’s cabin.
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